Adjusting to the Light--August 2, 2017
“They came to Bethsaida. Some people brought a blind man
to [Jesus] and begged him to touch him. He took the blind man by the hand and
led him out of the village; and when he had put saliva on his eyes and laid his
hands on him, he asked him, ‘Can you see anything?’ And the man looked up and
said, ‘I can see people, but they look like trees, walking.’ Then Jesus laid
his hands on his eyes again; and he looked intently and his sight was restored,
and he saw everything clearly. Then he
sent him away to his home, saying, ‘Do not even go into the village’.” [Mark 9:22-26]
This is a strange sort
of miracle. And that’s saying something,
since miracles are, by their very nature, pretty strange to begin with.
That’s the whole point of what a miracle is, I guess—an intrusion, an interruption, a
breaking-through, of the usual order of the natural world that leaves you scratching your head and yet falling to your knees with the awareness that you are in the presence of the divine.
When five
thousand people were fed with a handful of dried fish and pocket full of crummy
loaves, no one sat there and said, “Yep, I figured that would happen.” When Jesus healed the man with a withered
hand, no one said, “Just as I wagered—I had ‘instantaneous
healing’ in the betting pool!” When
Jesus told the young man on his mat or the man stricken with leprosy that they
were each healed, these were clear eruptions of God’s power and presence into
the usual order of things. So let’s
start with that: any miracle is an oddity in the first place, but now we have a
supernatural wonder that seems especially
strange, even for a miracle.
What seems odd about
this story, to be very honest, is that it seems like the healing doesn’t “take”
at first. It seems, at first, like this
is a miracle for the blooper reel, or at least for the editing room floor. Jesus does eventually give sight to this
blind man… but it takes two
tries. At first, the man can only make
out blurry shapes—people look like trees.
And only after a second attempt can the man see everything clearly.
What are we to make of
that curious detail? Why doesn’t Mark the Gospel writer
just summarize it and say, “Jesus healed a blind man,” without calling
attention to the seeming false-start in the middle? After all, in the end, the blind man can see,
right? There would be no shame in just
editing out this middle part about Jesus laying hands on the man’s eyes a
second time, would there? And yet, Mark
doesn’t give us the Reader’s Digest
condensed version of this miracle. And
he doesn’t edit out the parts that we might think make Jesus look like he isn’t
sure he can pull this one off.
And here’s a further
curiosity… Jesus has never needed a “second try” before. Throughout all of the
Gospels, Jesus is shown to have God’s own power at his disposal—raising the dead,
walking on water, calming storms, and healing the sick. He has been able to heal people even without
his direct knowledge (the woman with the flow of blood) or without being right in the
room (the daughter of the Syrophoenician woman). Jesus has always been able to do anything set before him, and in one
“try” with no need for “do-overs.” And
yet here we are, with a two-phase healing…
Then it must be here
for a reason. Mark our narrator must be telling us
something by leaving the story as it is. It is possible—in fact, a good many biblical scholars
think it is likely—that this man’s
healing is a sort of lived object-lesson for what Jesus does... to all of us.
Jesus gives us new vision--he makes it possible for us to see the world through a new lens, his lens, and to see our selves, our lives, our choices, and all of creation in a new way. His way. But that takes some time. We are going to have to let Jesus heal the eyes of our hearts on his own timetable, and that might be a gradual, even life-long, process of letting Jesus change how we see.
That's certainly what happens with Jesus' closest followers in the actual Gospel story right after this story. Immediately after this curious two-phase restoration of sight, Jesus poses his well-known question to his disciples: "Who do you say that I am?" And while Peter famously gets it "right" by answering that Jesus is the Messiah, Peter only sees with partial clarity. Peter hears "Messiah" and thinks, "conquering king, militant leader, and powerful figure with celebrity status." Jesus immediately has to clarify Peter's vision the rest of the way, and so Jesus says that he, as the "Son of Man" (the Truly Human one) will not raise up an army, crown himself king, or attract fawning crowds, but rather will lay down his life and reputation, suffering an execution at the hands of the powers of the day. That's what Jesus really wants Peter--and, of course, all of us--to see rightly, but it takes a sort of two-phase healing of our vision for that to happen. First, Peter recognizes that Jesus is God's promised Savior... and then he has to learn how Jesus intends to save--namely, through a cross and suffering love.
It takes longer than a finger snap, perhaps, for Peter to understand who Jesus really is, and how he loves, but dear ol' Pete himself seems to need this two-stage, incremental healing of vision so that he can more fully understand who Jesus is. And because that is what Peter needs, that is what Jesus gives--the gift of a slower, incremental ability to see again. Like the man who is blind and comes to see--first blurry figures, and then clearly--we all have this way of growing slowly in clarity of seeing with the new eyes of the Reign of God. And let's be honest--that is exactly what God has it in mind to give us: a whole new way of seeing the world. In God's way of seeing the world, the ones on the bottom are really the greatest, and the servants are the leaders. In God's reign, the first are last and vice versa, sinners and outcasts are welcomed, the hungry are filled with good things, and the proud and arrogant are deflated. It is such a startlingly different vision from "life-as-we-know-it" (as they would call it on Star Trek that of course it will take the eyes of our hearts a while to adjust to the light.
That's what I love about this story from Mark's Gospel, and what is so wonderful about this gracious One we know in Jesus. He is willing to take his time--not because he is incapable of moving things along faster, but because we need the time for our eyes to adjust to the light, like when you first wake up in the morning and need to give your vision a moment to come into focus to bear the sun's rays. And what I need--what I really desperately need--is a Savior who can bear with my slowness and graciously, lovingly, patiently, let my eyes become accustomed to the new radiance.
It will take--it is currently taking--some time for my own old self-centered, fearful, often bitter and blurred perspective to sharpen and to see the faces I thought were enemies are actually beloved... to see the faces I thought were unacceptable are actually precious in the sight of God... to see the things I used to think were oh-so-important, are all actually bound for dust. Jesus doesn't just show that to me in one instant and then smack me because my squinting spiritual eyes cannot take it all in all at once. Rather, Jesus is giving me new eyes... and he is giving a second, no less important, gift, too: the time to let my heart catch up to the new vision he offers, and to let my eyes adjust to the light.
Lord Jesus, give us the eyes to see the world as you do... and give us the grace of time to adjust to seeing with your love.
Jesus gives us new vision--he makes it possible for us to see the world through a new lens, his lens, and to see our selves, our lives, our choices, and all of creation in a new way. His way. But that takes some time. We are going to have to let Jesus heal the eyes of our hearts on his own timetable, and that might be a gradual, even life-long, process of letting Jesus change how we see.
That's certainly what happens with Jesus' closest followers in the actual Gospel story right after this story. Immediately after this curious two-phase restoration of sight, Jesus poses his well-known question to his disciples: "Who do you say that I am?" And while Peter famously gets it "right" by answering that Jesus is the Messiah, Peter only sees with partial clarity. Peter hears "Messiah" and thinks, "conquering king, militant leader, and powerful figure with celebrity status." Jesus immediately has to clarify Peter's vision the rest of the way, and so Jesus says that he, as the "Son of Man" (the Truly Human one) will not raise up an army, crown himself king, or attract fawning crowds, but rather will lay down his life and reputation, suffering an execution at the hands of the powers of the day. That's what Jesus really wants Peter--and, of course, all of us--to see rightly, but it takes a sort of two-phase healing of our vision for that to happen. First, Peter recognizes that Jesus is God's promised Savior... and then he has to learn how Jesus intends to save--namely, through a cross and suffering love.
It takes longer than a finger snap, perhaps, for Peter to understand who Jesus really is, and how he loves, but dear ol' Pete himself seems to need this two-stage, incremental healing of vision so that he can more fully understand who Jesus is. And because that is what Peter needs, that is what Jesus gives--the gift of a slower, incremental ability to see again. Like the man who is blind and comes to see--first blurry figures, and then clearly--we all have this way of growing slowly in clarity of seeing with the new eyes of the Reign of God. And let's be honest--that is exactly what God has it in mind to give us: a whole new way of seeing the world. In God's way of seeing the world, the ones on the bottom are really the greatest, and the servants are the leaders. In God's reign, the first are last and vice versa, sinners and outcasts are welcomed, the hungry are filled with good things, and the proud and arrogant are deflated. It is such a startlingly different vision from "life-as-we-know-it" (as they would call it on Star Trek that of course it will take the eyes of our hearts a while to adjust to the light.
That's what I love about this story from Mark's Gospel, and what is so wonderful about this gracious One we know in Jesus. He is willing to take his time--not because he is incapable of moving things along faster, but because we need the time for our eyes to adjust to the light, like when you first wake up in the morning and need to give your vision a moment to come into focus to bear the sun's rays. And what I need--what I really desperately need--is a Savior who can bear with my slowness and graciously, lovingly, patiently, let my eyes become accustomed to the new radiance.
It will take--it is currently taking--some time for my own old self-centered, fearful, often bitter and blurred perspective to sharpen and to see the faces I thought were enemies are actually beloved... to see the faces I thought were unacceptable are actually precious in the sight of God... to see the things I used to think were oh-so-important, are all actually bound for dust. Jesus doesn't just show that to me in one instant and then smack me because my squinting spiritual eyes cannot take it all in all at once. Rather, Jesus is giving me new eyes... and he is giving a second, no less important, gift, too: the time to let my heart catch up to the new vision he offers, and to let my eyes adjust to the light.
Lord Jesus, give us the eyes to see the world as you do... and give us the grace of time to adjust to seeing with your love.
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